Homecoming Gift

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“There’s a table not far from the Bar,” I said as I led my two friends into ‘The George and Dragon’ that fateful Thursday evening.

We all sat down and I fished a £20 note out of my Wallet.

“Jayne, be a darling and get them in. Mines a glass of Merlot. If you ask the barman nicely, I understand that he has a very nice bottle of St Emillion behind the bar with my name on it.”

Jayne and my other friend Donna were with me to celebrate a promotion and to do a bit of business at the same time.

We’d been in the pub about half an hour when two men came into the bar. After ordering and getting their drinks they looked around the bar. It didn’t take them long to spot us.

They came ambling over to us trying to look nonchalant but in my opinion failing miserably.

“Well hello Ladies, you don’t mind if we join you do you?”

“Yes we bloody well do mind,” I retorted.

One of the men looked at me sternly.

Then a smile broke out on his face.

“Well, well. Look what the dog dragged home. If it isn’t that faggot that goes by the name of Jeremy Phillips.”

He laughed and carried on.

“You know Tommo, I promised this bit of shit a really good time if he dared show his faggot face in this town again. Well he’s back, drinking in MY pub with two of his faggot mates. How’s about that then?”

Tommo said,

“Bobby, the two mates are women.”

"They are probably lessies then. They have to be queer to be seen in public with that shithead.”

Then he grabbed me by my jacket collar and dragged me to my feet. I did my best to remain straight faced.

“Bobby,” said Tommo, “Not here there are far too many witnesses.”

This didn’t deter Bobby at all.

“I’ll kill anyone who say a word about what it about to happen. You know what happens to people who grass to the plod around here. They end up in the river with their tongues cut out,” said Bobby almost shouting.

Then he turned his attention back to me.

“Now shithead faggot you are going to get what I promised you if you ever dared show your faggot face around here.”

Without waiting for a reply, he swung a punch at me. I dodged as best I could. It landed on my shoulder. He grinned.

“Oh well, faggot face is going to put up a fight. Well, I am going to enjoy this. You have no fucking chance.”

He swung again. A real ‘haymaker’ this time. I caught it with one hand and then grabbed his wrist with the other. I twisted it hard and he let out a ‘yelp’.

I didn’t let go but carried on twisting. Now his arm was mine. I held it like that by gripping the arm just above the elbow and forced it straight.

A look of surprise spread over his face.

I took my chance and threw him to the floor where upon Jayne put a high heeled foot on his neck. He was going nowhere.

Tommo saw what was happening and tried to make a dash for the door. Two uniformed officers happened to be coming through it at that instant. He ran smack into them.

I knelt down hard on Bobby’s back. He went ‘ooof’.

I grabbed his hands and took the pair of handcuffs that were being offered to me by Donna.

Then as I clicked them shut, I said, “Robert Alfred Simpson, you are under arrest for assault on a Police Officer as well as a hate crime the exact nature of which is yet to be determined. Anything you say will be taken down in evidence and used against you in a court of law. Do you understand what I have just said?”

“What? You are a fucking police faggot now? I didn’t know that they let in faggots. Anyway, no one here will speak against me if they know what is good for them.”

“We don’t need anyone to speak against you. We have it all on high quality video tape complete with sound.”

I stood up to let the Uniformed officer take him away.

“Deal with this piece of trash Constable.”

“My pleasure Maam. He’s been a thorn in our side for a long time.”

“I know and in mine for a lot longer than that.”

“What?” said an incredulous Bobby.

“You are a fucking bitch now?”

I smiled and stood up to him.

“Yes I am and it is all down to you. The last time we met you stabbed me to quote, ‘so that the faggot can’t fuck anyone ever’.”

I paused for effect.

“Well Bobby, it was the spur that I needed to become the woman I always knew I wanted to be. But you are going down for a very long time indeed. I think a charge of ‘Attempted Murder’ would go down very nicely with the CPS.”

The Uniformed officer frisked Bobby and found two flick knives. He was known for carrying at least one.

“Maam, he was carrying these.”
I smiled.

“That’s another 10 years added to your sentence. Take him away Constable. Do it by the book. No deviations at all.”

“Understood Maam.”

"I think it is time to go back to the station. I want to get rid of this binding off my chest it is causing me no end of jip I can tell you. And then I want to lock him into the cells personally.”

My two fellow officers laughed.
“Was this why you took this posting Maam?”

“A big part of it Donna. Well, that and to get made up to Super. You can lay off the Maam crap when we are in places like this. We don't need to draw undue attention to ourselves now do we eh?”

As we left the bar, I pulled off the male wig that I'd been wearing. My real hair was a mess but for the moment it didn't matter one little bit.

I did walk out of the pub with my head held high. That was a first for me in this town since almost forever. It was my town now and I was going to clean it up. My first day on the job would send out a message that the new ‘head Plod’ meant business. I was home to stay.

[the end]

[authors note]
This is a little something that I dashed off after reading a report in a local newspaper about two men who'd terrorised three women in a Pub. These two picked on the wrong three women.

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Comments

Put this down to watching

too many British procedurals but aren't female supervisors usually referred to as 'Mum?'

Nice little story.

Commentator
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And reading it again

Hiw could I miss the fact that the protagonist us named Bobbie. Could it be any more perfect?

Commentator
Visit my Caption Blog: Dawn's Girly Site

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Thank you Samantha ,

A nice little story no matter what they call the new Boss and I feel as Cyclist does !! Another two transphobic/homophobes
bite the dust .

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"Head Plod"?

giggles. Never heard that term before ...

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A Plod

A plod, or PC Plod, is a derogatory term for a police officer, presumably originating from someone who plods the streets (before they all got issued with cars), with little brain and low opportunity for promotion. Since then, it has become a term to mean the uniformed police in general

Hence the term Head Plod means head of police.

Like the use of colloquial terms...

It gives our community the global flavor we hove. It is a good story; it shows strength of body and character sometimes missing.

Hugs, Jessie C

Jessica E. Connors

Jessica Connors

Adds new meaning to the

Adds new meaning to the phrase "what goes around, comes around." Bobbie, it does appear, will have many years to consider his comments, actions and pure stupidity, unless English law provides for early release.

Bullies suck

Diesel Driver's picture

I don't care who they're bullying they suck. Bullying even if there is no physical contact is still assault as far as I'm concerned and with the assault and threats to witnesses this idiot did, he should not go to jail after his trial, he should be executed. That way he can never escape and attempt to exact any revenge for perceived wrongs which, I would think, he would blame his downfall not on himself but on his victims.

Chris

Thanks for the comments

As I said in the postscript, I dashed this off after reading of an episode in a local paper. Sometimes the muse lets rip and this was done in under 30 minutes yesterday.
There were a few minor typos which I hope I have rectified and that they didn't spoil the reading of my short tale.
Samantha

Great Story!

jengrl's picture

I loved how she took care of him right from the get go as her first order of business since coming back to town . Underestimating people seems to be a mistake a lot of hate monger's and bullies make . My cousin was serving in the U.S Army back in the early 1990's when he was jumped by a group of thugs who mistook his short haircut for that of a Neo Nazi skinhead shortly after he came home after deployment . He totally surprised them when his hand -to-hand combat skills had them all flat on their backs with broken and dislocated bones . The police came and hauled the thugs off in handcuffs and they were prosecuted after they recovered from their injuries .

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I love that kind of justice!

All too often you hear of the tales where some jerk wad redneck attacks someone in the LGBT community but you almost NEVER hear of the multitude of stories from the "other side of the tracks" where some dumbass redneck gets his ass handed to him by one of US! (oddly enough we get attacked despite the reality that many of us have had some sort of combat training)

... I know I did it once to a 25 year old kid (I was 48 at the time), with three witnesses (his buddies). I dropped him and told him to his face on the ground that he just got his ass kicked by a transgender woman! -- his buddies did nothing.

There was no story in the paper, no police no nothing... Mind you I suspect that the guy I hit never lived it down with his buddies - he's probably still in therapy as we speak! LOL

Great story Samantha. I wish

Great story Samantha. I wish this happened more.
I love the term 'Plod', we call them 'Uni's' (uniformed)

Karen

Assumptions

Jamie Lee's picture

Assuming someone is an easy target is asking for trouble. But arrogance and the ego help shut off the reasoning part of the brain, as happened to those two AHs.

And now their ego and arrogance cost them several years in prison.

Others have feelings too.

As I've mentioned before

When I joined the local force I was a "double dipper" for them. They could check off both the "female" and the "LGBT" boxes on the diversity forms. Also I could do a little UC work. Thankfully no prostitution stings. In a city with almost 10,000 college coeds prostitution was never a money- making concern. And before anybody goes all PC feminist on me this was in the free spirit, free love, pre-AIDs days. When "Can I buy you a drink?" was sometimes met with "No. Why don't we go burn one and screw."

There is more to those stories but I keep some things to myself. Some memories are too private to share.


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin